


Accidents Happen

by viklikesfic (v_angelique)



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-03
Updated: 2007-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-05 09:44:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v_angelique/pseuds/viklikesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Result of the suggested words "drizzled" and "fluctuate" from <a href="http://wynterhawk.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://wynterhawk.livejournal.com/"><b>wynterhawk</b></a> and <a href="http://geniusartist.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://geniusartist.livejournal.com/"><b>geniusartist</b></a> respectively</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accidents Happen

Orlando's tongue was poking out of the corner of his mouth, his eyes narrowed in concentration. In his left hand was a piping bag with a star tip, his right arm wrapped in a dark blue cast. The sliver scrawl that spiralled around the plaster was vaguely legible, Elijah's idea of poetry. The broken wrist had partially been Elijah's own fault, and Orlando's boss at the bakery was none too happy when he heard that his best cake decorator's good hand had fallen victim to sexual acrobatics with his equally clumsy roommate.

Lavender buttercream frosting drizzled in a neat zig zag up and down the side of the cake, which read "Congratulations, Marcie!" in a slightly distorted cursive script. One hip cocked against the doorframe, Elijah smiled to himself as he watched Orlando's attempts at edible artistry.

"Not bad," he commented, and Orlando frowned as he stirred the bowl of yellow glaze.

"It's a little off."

"You're injured. Pete will understand."

"Pete is out to murder you. I'd stay away from the bakery if I were you."

"Don't worry. Now that I've got you here at home, I have little desire to leave."

"Tramp."

"Whore."

Orlando smiled and turned to face Elijah, slowly trailing his tongue over his lower lip before grinning cheekily. "You love it."

"Never said I didn't."

"Fuck me."

"Gladly. Want to cover the cake first."

"I live dangerously," Orlando replied with a smirk.

Elijah raised an eyebrow in the general direction of the cast. "Obviously. But I'm afraid to fuck you over the counter with that thing on."

"Who says _you're_ fucking _me_?" Orlando raised an eyebrow himself, and Elijah sucked in a breath before taking the spoon out of Orlando's hand and grabbing him by the front of the shirt, pulling him backwards until Elijah was pressed against the refrigerator.

"Yes," he hissed. "Now."

"Wasn't planning on waiting, love," Orlando murmured as he reached for Elijah's zipper. "Fuck, help me with this."

Elijah quickly undid his own flies and Orlando's before turning around and taking a hold of the freezer on either side to brace himself.

"Jesus, Orli, c'mon, hurry up…"

"For that, you get no lube," Orlando muttered, sucking quickly on his fingers and pushing them inside. Elijah let out a low, deep moan, shifted his left hand to the more grippable freezer door handle, and promptly yanked the door open, the momentum shoving the both of them backwards and into the opposite counter.

"Shit, the…"

"Cake," Orlando groaned as he glared at his cast, embedded now right in the middle of Marcie's name, as his fingers were still embedded in Elijah's arse.

"God, that fucking _hurts_, Orli. Out."

Orlando grunted as he slid his fingers out gingerly and got his feet more solidly under him, extracting his cast from the ruined cake.

"I hate my life."

"Drama queen."

"Elijah—shut up."

"You know, I like you better horny."

"My mood fluctuates," Orlando grumbled.

"Evidently."

"Look, just…" Orlando sighed and blew a strand of hair from his forehead. "Give me three hours to try this again, okay? And then I promise we'll go upstairs and I'll fuck you."

Elijah quirked a brow and turned to leave the kitchen, tossing a comment over his shoulder as he left. "Who says it'll be _you_ fucking _me_?"

Orlando sighed, turned back to his cake, and then smiled in spite of himself.


End file.
